Megalomania
by groaar
Summary: A child flees for his life. He flees from the injustice of the world. But, all while he tries to distance himself from the cruel reality, it slowly dawns upon him that he might actually be sinking further and further into the vicious circle he so desperately is trying to escape. This child is Doflamingo. There is a time in life when we all are vulnerable; childhood.


Doflamingo has always been the one character in One Piece that has intrigued me the most. He is smart, charismatic and completely crazy. This drove me to speculate about how he might have turned into this kind of person, and suddenly this story was born.

This story contains no spoilers. It is based on the picture of the Shichibukai as children (from an SBS in OP volume 63) and Doflamingo's view on justice (which he announced during the battle at Marineford). In other words it has nothing to do with any recent chapters of OP. I was also deeply influenced by Muse's song "Megalomania" while writing this specific story.

Warnings:  
I suppose this story is considered AU, as it is not the real story of Doflamingo's past, but simply my take on it. Also, the story is quite raw and gory, so bear this in mind if you choose to go on reading. Also, some grammatical/language errors might be lurking in the text and I apologize for those.

Disclaimer:  
The amazing Doflamingo does unfortunately not belong to me, but to the creator of One Piece, Oda Eiichiro.

* * *

A young boy, about nine years of age, ran for his dear life. He ran, because that was the only thing he could do, but he swore that this would be the last time he ever did so. He was going to get stronger, and then, then he would show those bastards what he was really capable of.

The sand under his small, bare feet was scorching hot, and every time the soles of his feet hit the ground the sand burned his raw feet. He stumbled and fell, hitting the ground with a hard thump. Not wasting a second the young boy scrambled back up on his knees, scratched from the sudden fall. Having stood up again the boy anxiously looked around, and as he was unable to spot anyone he took a moment to try and brush of some of the sand that had gotten stuck on him and his clothes. Unfortunately quite a few grains of the hot sand had already been scrubbed into the fresh wounds that adorned his palms and knees, and the boy realized he would not be able to remove the dirt without water.

While the sun rose even higher, burning even hotter, the boy sat off running again, trying his best to ignore the smarting pain caused by the sand.

It was not only the brown speckled sand under the little boy's feet that was hot, but the air itself seemed like it was on fire. This was making running significantly harder for the child, as every single breath he drew burnt deep down in his throat and lungs, causing him to fall even shorter of breath than he already was. Yet he ran over the dunes, mind blank and eyes steadily fixated on the silhouette of a town far, far in the distance.

Out of nowhere the wind started blowing. At first the boy thought of it as a blessing, as the cool breezes softly caressed his skin, offering a bit of refreshment, but his opinion quickly changed as the wind grew in power. Soon vicious gusts of wind engulfed the boy, whipping sand into his eyes, nose, mouth and ears, making progress nearly impossible. But the boy couldn't afford to stop, not if he wanted to survive.

Slowly, fighting the wind with every step, the little figure pressed on. The angry gusts ripped and tore at his clothes and the boy felt as if he was going to be blown away any minute for sure, but still he kept on walking. Raising his hands to cover his face in a futile attempt to protect it from the sand, the boy determinately placed one small foot in front of the other, repeating the pattern endlessly.

The boy could feel his throat growing dryer and itchier, making him want to cough out the sand that had managed to find its way in. He knew better than to follow that impulse though, as it would have the exact opposite effect of what he desired, and to prevent such a situation the boy clamped his mouth further shut, closed his eyes tight and used both hands to cover his nose. This was the only way to protect them and thus the kid was left with no choice but to wander aimlessly in darkness, hoping that he would not stray too much off course.

After what felt like an eternity the wind started to subside and the sand no longer whisked at the boy as harshly as only minutes ago. Cautiously the kid cranked his left eye open, only long enough to confirm his whereabouts. He let out a sigh of relief as he realized he had not strayed too much from the route he had initially planned on taking; the town he was heading for was still within his line of sight. If he only kept on running a bit longer he was sure he could reach it in a matter of hours.

The sun had already begun to sink when the boy finally arrived at the big stonewall encircling a small desert town. He leaned the palm of his hand towards the bricks, which were rough and rugged but felt soothingly cool towards his skin. Then, without a warning, his legs gave in and the boy collapsed to the ground. He was overcome with fatigue, a tiredness he hadn't been aware of during his sprint through the desert. Now, when the flow of adrenaline in his veins had dampened, it hit with full force.

The kid's breathing was hitching violently, his small frame shaking as he lay on the ground, but he didn't have time for that, he had to get up and continue. Gritting his teeth he struggled to get up on all four. Even in this position his arms and legs were shaking under his weight and the boy was sure of that if he tried to stand up now it would only result in him crashing back down onto the ground. Suddenly the kid could feel his stomach turn, and he was overcome by an immense desire to vomit. The child figured this was his body trying to get rid of the sand that he had accidentally swallowed, so he decided to yield to the reaction, figuring it was for the best. In the end though, he only ended up dry heaving, his body desperately trying, but failing to rid itself of the intrusive particles. The heaving was soon reduced to desperate coughing, and the boy felt as if he could feel every single grain of sand as they scrubbed against the inside of his throat, scraping and clawing at the soft material.

The boy felt like crying but he could muster up no tears as his body had run out of fluids. The boy felt like screaming but he had no voice left as his throat had been rendered as dry as the desert he had crossed.

With tremendous efforts the child lifted one of his bony, tanned arms, and having put it against the humongous wall he dug his fingers as deep into the hard material as he could. He could feel his sunburnt skin tear against the hard rock but he needed the support to get up, because if he stayed here everything he had accomplished so far would be in vain. While biting down hard on his lip, in an ineffectual attempt to take his mind of the pain rummaging through the rest of his body, the boy made himself a promise. He swore that one day he would take revenge, one day he would make his tormentors regret they had ever been born. Yeah, one day the world itself would tremble with fear before him and no one would ever again dear to defy Donquixote Doflamingo!

**···················**

Leaning his back against the wall for support the boy brought a hand up to his head and tousled his dirty hair, causing a thick cloud of sand to slowly float down towards the ground. Doflamingo then proceeded to dust of the rest of his body as well, but with little success. The colours of his clothes remained far more matted than he remembered them to be, his shirt having turned slightly brown instead of the light pinkish colour it used to be. His skin didn't fare much better either, as the dirt from the sand seemed to have gotten ingrained into it, adding an even deeper shade to the boys already tanned hue. And, even though the boy couldn't actually see his hair, he figured it shared the same fate, his natural blond probably having been dyed dirt brown by sand. He huffed; his appearance didn't matter. For all he knew he could have been looking like this for much longer, the darkness he had been living in for years only having prevented him from noticing. It simply didn't matter. Doflamingo had much higher priorities now, water being his top one, and that in mind the blond started slowly limping towards the town entrance.

The town, overpopulated like any other place out here where water was scarce, was swarming with people of all ages and sizes. Humans and animals, no matter which way the young blond turned he inevitably crashed into someone or something, and it seemed like no one cared. Everyone was pushing and pulling, only concerned about making their way through the busy streets, leaving others to worry about themselves.

Doflamingo was appalled by the extent to which the scenario reminded him of sitting huddled together in a small room cramped with a bunch of apathetic, listless creatures deprived of all hope. It was hot, sticky and the stench was terrible. You would never know if the person sitting next to you was breathing or rotting and you wouldn't care, only focusing on your own survival and your own fate. But, Doflamingo had always thought things would be different out here. To think that the world itself reminded him so much of those deplorable conditions… it was a bitter letdown for the boy. The world he always had imagined as an amazing place was no different from where he had originally come from and the thought hit the blond like a sharp dagger.

Outraged, Doflamingo momentarily stopped in the midst of the busy street, curling his small hands into tight fists, his small frame trembling with rage and disappointment. He should never have stopped though, because in a matter of seconds he had been pushed down to the ground by a careless passer-by and trampled over by people who didn't see him, who didn't bother to see him.

Moments later a slightly dizzy and bruised Doflamingo staggered helplessly across the crowded marketplace, scrutinising the multitude of shabby wooden price signs in hopes of finding something remotely cheep. He was in no luck though. Reading the signs proved to be quite a hassle in itself as the young child's vision was blurry and unfocused, but it really seemed like the rumour concerning skyrocketing water prices was true. Why was there even a price on something so essential for life? The boy spent quite some time pondering over this particular question while he moved around looking for something he could afford, but the answer seemed to lie beyond his reach

The blond child didn't really have any way of telling how much time had passed, but after what felt like a considerable hour of searching Doflamingo actually came across a market stall that caught his attention immediately. It was not the price of the water that made him stop in particular, even though it was cheaper than in most stalls, but it was the merchant who had drawn him to this stall in specific. The vendor was a tall, elderly woman whose face was heavily wrinkled and decorated with age spots in various sizing. Under other circumstances Doflamingo might have found her rather scary but as she, smiling, had looked out over the crowd, her blue eyes shining brightly with wisdom, the child couldn't help but to feel as if her eyes had momentarily been directed directly at him, beckoning him to come closer. In that moment she had seemed friendly, and Doflamingo had felt noticed in a positive sense for the first time in very long.

Hesitatingly he took a few steps closer, his bare feet doing their best to stabilize the boy as he attentively treaded across the pebbled ground, slowly closing the distance between him and the woman. When only a few meters apart, Doflamingo tentatively snuck his dirty, small hand into the pocket of his trousers and started feeling around for the few belly he had managed to sneak out with him as he had run away. When he had located the coins he firmly clamped his hand around them, the feeling of metal soothingly cool against his burning skin.

A ghost of a smile was already tracing the young boy's dried and cracked lips when suddenly a humongous shadow appeared from behind. The blond was nearly thrown of balance as a large sized man designedly pushed him aside in order to be the first one to reach the market booth Doflamingo was currently contemplating buying water from. The only place the blond had managed to find that had had a fair price on water was now emptied before his eyes and on top of it all by a man whose moneybag was flowing over with bellies. Doflamingo half expected the woman behind the counter to have saved at least one petty bottle of water for him, as she had seemed so nice, but as the fat man had moved away he could see she was happily counting her money, her table emptied of every single one of the water containers.

The child could feel his heart sink, and his face immediately twisted into an ugly, infuriated grimace. It was a tempestuous expression of emotion directed at the old woman, but also at himself, feeling disappointed as he yet again had let the pretentious kindness of humans fool him. A kindness he very well should know did not exist. Angry with the woman, himself and the world Doflamingo, left with no other choice than to continue his endless hunt for cheap water, stomped away.

**···················**

Having walked all the way to the very outskirts of the market square the boy finally laid eyes on some relatively inexpensive water and slowly he dragged his feet over to the stand, which consisted of nothing more than a wobbly and rotten wooden table. Doflamingo, not even bothering to look at the vendor, regarded the water dubiously. It looked dirty, very dirty. He could see sand floating around inside the bottle and he didn't even want to imagine where the water came from, let alone what kinds of contagions it did carry. But he was thirsty, very thirsty.

Digging out the money from his pocket he tried to ask the merchant for a bottle of water, but even though he spoke no words left his mouth. He tried again and this time a few grating, scratchy noises passed his lips, but these sounds didn't even remotely resemble words. Sighing Doflamingo lifted his arm and pointed at one of the bottles simultaneously as he thrust the hand holding the money forward, so the vendor would understand his intentions. Without hesitation the man behind the table hogged all of the money lying in the child's outstretched palm before carelessly tossing him one of the smaller bottles. Doflamingo flimsily managed to grab a hold of the bottle, which to his disappointment was warm. Not that he had expected a bottle of cool, fresh water, but as the merchant had taken all of Doflamingo's money, which was more than the price scribbledon the smudgy price tag, he had hoped the water would at least have been slightly cooled, or clearer. Even though he felt he had been treated utterly unfairly Doflamingo didn't have the energy to argue so he simply turned his back to the market place and left in search for a shady place where he could sit down and drink his water in peace, protected from the suns burning hot rays.

A few hundred meters from the city centre Doflamingo found a small mound of sandstone which was placed alongside the road for one reason or another. The boy figured it might be leftover building material, as sandstone was by far the cheapest and most popular material used in house construction, or so he had heard. Walking around to the shadowy side of the heap the blond boy kicked aside some of the smaller stones before sitting down on the hard ground which was covered by a layer of coarse sand.

The child's nimble fingers effortlessly loosened the plastic bottle cap and eager hands quickly brought the bottle up to the boy's mouth. Doflamingo drank greedily, drowning half of the liquid content in one go. The murky water had tasted very foul, but as Doflamingo knew this was the best he could get at the moment he swallowed mouthful after mouthful in hopes that it would to some degree restore his fluid balance. It felt at least somewhat refreshing.

Not wanting to waste all of the liquid at once the boy placed the bottle next to him on the ground and opted to study the injuries his body had received during his sudden and rather unexpected escape. Carefully he reached for the hem of his chequered trousers, folding them over to get a better look at his knees, still hurting from the fall earlier. Dried blood had formed a hard crust on one of his knees, and the boy eagerly sat of peeling it away, revealing more and more of his bony, pointy knee. To Doflamingo's relief the actual damage was not too bad, as there were no deeper gashes but only superficial wounds. What worried the boy though, was that he could still see a respectable amount of sand mixed up in the blood, and the blond knew the sooner he could wash the wounds clean the better. He bluntly refused to use the water he had bought though, because it was dirty and he was still thirsty. Clearing out the wounds would simply have to wait. At least the palms of his hands had faired rather well, the boy reckoned, as he turned his hands towards his face. He supposed the long days of hard labour, hauling around heavy stone blocks with his bare hands, had thickened the delicate skin of his palms. He remembered hating every minute of the work, but Doflamingo had still preferred it to the darkness of the chambers where he had been forced to spend his nights.

Lost in thought the blond absentmindedly reached out for the bottled with his left hand while letting his slanted eyes travel across his gaunt body, closely regarding his skinny and spindly limbs. If he ever wanted to make anything out of himself he really ought to put on some more weight, Doflamingo reasoned, because he was sure of that no one would be intimidated by a long legged, scrawny, meagre man. At least all the guards, and powerful men in general, the kid had ever seen had always been bulky and large, so he really had quite a lot to live up to.

Uttering a defeated sigh at the gloomy outlooks of his future the boy turned his attention back to the bottle, and when he did he came terribly close to dropping it in sheer appal, almost spilling the precious liquid in the process. Doflamingo, unsure whether his eyes had played a trick on him, took a closer look at the cloudy water, and the sight that met him had the boy suppressing his gagging reflex to the fullest. There was no denying it. Something was floating around in the bottle, only a few centimetres from the bottom. It was an indefinable lump made up of a slimy looking substance, almost transparent to its nature. The lump rhythmically bobbed up and down, up and down, almost as if it was alive and swimming, having Doflamingo think it might be some sort of protozoon. The corners of his thin mouth immediately jerked down at the recognition. The blond wasn't at all fond of the idea of a living creature lurking in his drink, and he could feel his stomach turn at the possibility of it having laid eggs.

Doflamingo roughly shook the bottle in order see whether this would cause some distress to the possibly living organism. But, no matter how hard he shook or how violently the water in the bottle was tossed around, the repulsive lump peacefully continued its carefree bobbing, seemingly unaffected by the storm caused by the young, gaunt boy.

Doflamingo let out a deep, heavy breath. He now found himself in a situation where he had no money left, a raging feeling of thirst and only a bottle with contaminated, possibly infested water. In other words the options were scarce. So, however revolting the water might seem, the boy did the only thing he deemed a sensible action; he swiftly swallowed the remaining liquid. He had, after all, tasted worse. The thin boy knew very well you couldn't afford to be picky about what you got if you wanted to stay alive. Even to this day the mere thought of oozing, rank meat swarming with big, fat and slimy creeps made the blond close his eyes in pure disgust, but that sustenance had undeniably aided him in his struggle for life. Anyhow, this water definitely beat the taste of spoiled meat by horse lengths.

All the same the boy couldn't help but let a shudder escape him when the last drops of water slipped down his throat and the mushy, disintegrated piece of gunk collided with his pale lips, trying to push past them and enter his mouth. Quickly discarding of the bottle the blond pushed himself of the ground and with resolute steps he walked away from the stone heap. It was at times like these Doflamingo couldn't help but wonder what he had done to deserve all this and he wished someone would remind him, because he certainly had no recollection of such events.

**···················**

Making his way down yet another street in the more abandoned part of town Doflamingo had started feeling a little more energetic, but still as anxious as ever. The blond constantly looked over his shoulder and nervously peaked into every corner to see if he could spot anyone following him. So far there had been no one though. The sandstorm earlier had probably stalled his persuaders, and maybe even given them cause to presume the boy had died, but Doflamingo still couldn't feel completely at ease. If the men chasing him, against all odds, caught up with him he wouldn't stand a chance, he didn't even have anything to protect himself with… Before he left the town he'd definitely need to get his hands on a proper, although not too heavy and impractical, weapon.

Doflamingo really would have preferred to get his hands on a gun. He had used one before and was capable of handling them with relative ease. However he realized a gun was something he was unlikely to find in these quarters. This, as far as Doflamingo's knowledge stretched, was the part of the country where the rich ones lived with their slaves, and the government had thus seen to that this area remained unaffected by the war raging in most other regions. Of course he realised there had to be guns here, too, but they were most likely in possession of the guards and, just to be on the safe, side the blond didn't feel like drawing any extra attention to himself. A knife would have to do, it wasn't as practical as a gun, but Doflamingo knew he'd at least be able to do some damage with a sharp edge. That, and a knife would be significantly easier to locate.

However, the blond was still not quite sure where to start looking though. It wasn't as if he just could rob the next passerby and expect them to be carrying a knife. Instead he figured he should start looking at places or shops where they utilized knifes, like restaurants or the likes of that. Finding one of those couldn't be too hard, everyone needs to eat, and Doflamingo figured people with a lot of money ate out a lot, creating plenty of opportunities for the lower classes in the area to open restaurants. So, with newfound vigour, the blond headed off with the intention to sneak into the first restaurant that he'd come across, his mind fully set on stealing a knife.

The sun still shone brightly high in the sky, casting long shadows on the ground whenever its beams hit a house or another obstacle. Doflamingo did his best to keep in the dark, as even the slightest cool down provided him with relief. As a matter of fact, the more time that passed by the more concentrated the blond became on finding routes that kept him shadowed, rather than actually paying attention to his surroundings and the possibilities of threat lurking around the next corner. Because of his unfocused state the sudden firing of a gun and the sound of aggravated voices behind him, shouting words like 'varmint' and 'thief', aroused a great feeling of alarm in the young boy. In a terrified moment Doflamingo thought his persuaders had caught up with him and that it was he who was the target of the tumult on the street, and so the blond sat of running at top speed.

Whether he was hit by the harsh beams of sun or not did no longer matter. Nothing mattered. Doflamingo's thoughts were blurry, escape being the one and only distinct concept he could make out at the moment. The blond was in such hysteria that he did not even notice the door that was suddenly flung up right in front of him. Doflamingo crashed into it. But not even then did the boy stop. He simply kept on running, pressing his body to it uttermost limits. The terror of being brought back to the place, the hell he had come from, defeated all sensation of pain and exhaustion. After aimlessly running for a few blocks Doflamingo calmed down just enough to realise he'd be unable to keep up his speed forever. So, while still making steadfast progress, the child frantically started looking for a place to hide, and upon spotting an open, but dark, window the blond plunged in without hesitation.

For a while the boy sat in the dark, huddled up against the wall, anxiously listening after the voices he had heard earlier. The minutes passed by slowly, all while Doflamingo's breath grew steadier and the tremor of his hands lessened. Together with the calm the child's ability to think reasonably was also gradually restored.

Eventually it cleared on the blond that he wasn't the one the men on the street had been hunting, and suddenly the decision to heedlessly invade someone's house seemed incredibly stupid. Doflamingo silently cursed his own foolishness as he only now realized how much extra strain he must have caused to his already worn out body, as it was pounding with pain from an impact he could hardly recall. And, as the smell of blood hit his nose, a feeling of dread slowly started to accumulate in the pit of the kid's stomach. If he had hurt himself gravely he might not be able to continue, and being stuck in this city would surely do Doflamingo no good.

The lanky, blond boy did his best to examine his skinny and dirty limbs, slippery from cold sweat, but the darkness of the room made it close to impossible. However, when trailing his clammy hands along his skin he was unable to detect any wounds, at least none that hadn't been there before, and the boy couldn't be but baffled over this. If the smell of blood was not coming from him, then where was it coming from

Having got up to his feet the blond carefully set out across the floor, stretching one trembling hand out before him so he wouldn't crash into anything and hurt himself further. He had been in such a panicked and hurried state when diving in through the window that Doflamingo, without fully having been aware of it himself, had made it all the way across a quite large room. The window now only looked like a small square of light in the dark. At least the room was cool, which was a nice letup from the intense heat the boy had fought against all day.

Little by little the blond's vision adjusted to the darkened room. With every step Doflamingo took he grew more confident, and soon he even felt bold enough to let his arm fall down, relying solely upon his sense of sight as he approached the window. However, as the blond unwaveringly walked towards the room's sole source of light he started to take notice of something remotely unnerving. It seemed as if Doflamingo was surrounded by shadows; shadows of something big and oddly shaped that was floating in the air, on all sides of him nonetheless. It couldn't be people though, because Doflamingo knew very well that humans did not fly. But perhaps they were some sort of ghosts the young blond thought, bewildered by his own imagination the way only a child can be.

Out of curiosity the kid reached out a hand to touch one of the large shapes. The indefinable lump felt cold, wet and sticky under his fingers, and repulsed the boy immediately withdrew his hand from the hanging figure. Suddenly the blond found himself putting two and two together. The house he had entered wasn't just any building, but an abattoir. He was surrounded by dangling animal corpses and his hand was covered in their blood.

Before being able to concern himself further with the fact that he had accidentally entered a slaughterhouse, a distinct creaking sound caught the boy's full attention. That was unmistakably the sound of a door opening, and a door opening usually meant someone entering. Doflamingo pricked his ears, warily listening to the thumping of heavy, slouching footsteps growing ever louder. To his horror it slowly dawned on the blond that whomever it was that was out there in the dark it was headed in Doflamingo's direction. He could already picture the butcher in his head. It would surely be a large man carrying a humongous butchering knife; a man who doubtlessly despised having small rats, like Doflamingo, sneaking into his storage room.

In an attempt to hide the blond pressed his body against the closest piece of dead meat, wrapping his arms around it in order to prevent it from spinning. The smell was repulsive and he could feel blood, still lukewarm, trickling down the side of his face. As the man got ever closer Doflamingo did his best to hold his breath, both so to remain undetected but also in order to stop a wave of nausea that washed over him with alarming strength. Doflamingo, who could already taste the vomit in his mouth, was swallowing like crazy not to let any of it actually spill out. The smell reminded him in such high degree of the room… The room that had no windows, nor ventilation… The room that was always crammed with people... The room that always reeked of blood, and death...

The man, who the blond assumed must be the owner of the place, had luckily entered without a lamp and thus Doflamingo managed to stay undetected even as the man passed only a few meters next to him. That and a few blocks of dangling meat also acted as his cover. The man, apparently carrying a large piece of meat on his back, was heading to the very far end of the storage room and suddenly the boy saw his chance to escape. He had heard the door open, but it had definitely not closed, meaning an escape route should be available.

While slowly letting go of the slab of meat he had been tightly clinging to the rangy boy cast one last glance in the direction of the butcher, and then Doflamingo took off. He sprinted towards the door, skilfully dodging any lumps of meat in his way, his feet so light they barely produced any sound when making contact with the cold stone floor. The boy just prayed the butcher kept the floor clean because a pool of blood in this darkness would be as good as invisible, and stepping into such a pool would mean a definite slip and fall. He didn't have to worry long though as he seconds later reached the door that Doflamingo assumed would lead him to the main part of the shop.

Unfortunately the blond didn't even have time to enjoy the safety of the shop before he again found himself petrified with fear. Facing him was a bearded man, not as large as the one in the storage but all the more muscular, and he didn't look very pleased. Doflamingo had never considered that there might be an assistant, or was this perhaps the owner? His mind was working frantically and his eyes widened with horror as he saw that the man was carrying a sharp butchering knife, the kind Doflamingo had feared he would encounter.

Without uttering a word the butcher angrily slammed down the knife on the table with such force that the impact caused some of the lumps of meet, which had been neatly lined up on the table, to fall and plump down on the dirty floor. Thoughts of alarm and distress quickly clouded Doflamingo's head as he realised how much harm one hit with that knife could cause him. At least now the sharp edge was deeply buried into the wooden surface, offering the blond at least some relief. This however did not prevent small droplets of cold sweat to break out on Doflamingo's smudgy forehead.

"Who the hell are you?" the man questioned bitterly as he wiped his hands on his bloodstained, white apron. The blond, however, didn't answer, nor did he even look at the intimidating man. Doflamingo's full attention was namely currently firmly fixated on the knife. Not even when the man started advancing toward him did the boy let his gaze waver from the shiny blade, because there was his weapon, and it was just about the size that he had been looking for.

Without warning Doflamingo leapt across the small room, aiming directly at the butcher. The boy's actions, having caught the big man by surprise, provided the blond with just the opening he needed to be able to land a well placed kick which sent the slaughterer flying towards the ground. Doflamingo was determined to not get caught here, not when freedom was within reach.

Sure of that the ruckus had alerted the man in the storage room Doflamingo hasted over to the butchering table the very moment his feet touched the ground. He eyed the knife for a second before tightly gripping its wooden handle with is his long, slender fingers, and with a mighty exertion of power the blond managed to wrench his new weapon free from the wooden grip of the table. Having acquired the blade Doflamingo, panting, rushed out into the street, leaving the stinky butchery behind him.

Well out on the streets the blond felt far too many eyes on him and he wondered why people were staring so much now when they hadn't before. Then it struck him, he must look like a murderer. Here he was, running through the streets all bloody and squeezing a blood smudged butcher's knife in his small hands. It was a wonder the guards weren't after him already. Fortunately he was all set to leave now, because Doflamingo was sure he would not get another chance to explore this city, he'd have to get out of here and quickly. Swiftly the blond ran towards the exit, not once turning around to see if he was followed. The knife still tightly clasped in his dirty hands Doflamingo ran. He ran out of the town and back into the desert, heading for his final goal; the sea.

The nine year old had never seen the sea and he did not know its exact location, but from what he had heard he lived on an island, so, if he just kept running straight forward, he was bound to reach the ocean at some point. Or so Doflamingo figured. The ocean so many of his fellow prisoners had talked so nostalgically about.

As he ran Doflamingo discovered he still felt slightly nauseous. He spent a short moment pondering over whether it was the smell of raw meat in the butchery or the water he had consumed earlier that made him sick, but in the end he couldn't really be too bothered. Now, when freedom was only a few steps away, it would take a lot more than a faint queasiness to stop him. For all he knew the sickness might just all be in his head.

Just as the sun was about to set for yet another day Doflamingo saw it, the sea, and it was all he had ever imagined. Amazing! The fact that he actually had made it all the way to the seashore was also unbelievable, and the boy couldn't feel happier. The sea…it outshone any description Doflamingo had ever heard of it. It was vast, open and empty, not a single person in sight. In other words the ocean was a paradise only waiting to be discovered and even before Doflamingo had reached the waterside he had decided, he would head out there! Anywhere but this miserable country… anywhere where he could be free…

Doflamingo just stood there for a while, letting the salty water dab his tired feet, allowing them a short break before continuing his walk. He might have reached the sea but his struggles were not over quite yet. Now, as night was falling, the temperature was dropping drastically by the minute. The blond knew he ought to find a decent place to spend the night if he didn't want to freeze to death. Still, the tanned boy could not help but allow himself to enjoy the divine ocean scenery for just a short while longer. The feeling when salty breaths of wind played in his unwashed hair, Doflamingo was unsure of if he had ever before felt anything so wonderful.

**···················**

Strolling along the edge of the water, enjoying the refreshing ocean breeze and the sound of the waves hitting shore, the blond suddenly came to a halt. The darkness surrounding him was compact, but in the distance Doflamingo was sure he could spot a source of light, flickering and fluttering just like a campfire. Instantly the boy knew this would be his last hurdle, the last obstacle to be overcome in order to embrace freedom. It was bound to be the border guards.

Doflamingo had heard the elderly prisoners, and the ones that experienced a life of freedom, talking about the border guards many times. Apparently they were deemed rather unnecessary as the hefty ocean currents surrounding the island made it impossible for ships to anchor at any other place than at the larger ports. Doflamingo didn't know if this was the case any longer, but he couldn't imagine ocean currents suddenly changing their pattern and thus he assumed that most border guards still had to be allocated to the port towns. At least he hoped so because he wouldn't stand a chance against a large group of guards, but if there were only one or two guards present he might actually stand a fair chance.

The boy broke into a sprint, his spirits suddenly rising at the possibility of escape. The sand muffled his steps, rendering them close to undetectable as he scuttled closer. The darkness acted as a veil, offering him complete camouflage. For once nature actually aided him, rather than only presenting him with a multitude of obstacles. Freedom had never felt more real; Doflamingo almost had it in his grasp.

Upon getting closer to the light source, which indeed proved to be a campfire, the blond slowed down to a jog before finally stopping altogether. He didn't want to risk coming too close, as he was afraid his shadow would give him away if he stepped into the circle of warm, yellow light the fire gave birth to. Yet, being unable to approach further did not compose any bigger problems, as Doflamingo was fully capable of observing the campsite even from this distance. And, what he could see pleased him utterly.

The campsite, located by a small cluster of palm trees, was not big. In fact the boy was unsure if it even qualified as a campsite at all, as it didn't seem to have but the bare necessities, if even those. As a matter of fact Doflamingo could not even spot a bed. There were a few guns, plenty of bottles and a worn-out armchair. For a split second Doflamingo almost felt sorry for the solitary guard, who stood close to the fire, warming his hands. He figured it must be terrible to be out here all alone, deemed so useless by your country that you weren't even offered a decent bed. Then again, he had never been offered a bed either; this country had really stolen everything from him, so why should he feel sorry? All humans were alike; vile, ugly and egoistical monsters. Doflamingo was sure this guard was no exception. Glancing downward his eyes were met by the sight of a matted, metallic surface; it was the knife, glowing ever so slightly in the night as it reflected the flames of the fire burning far ahead. Suddenly the sharp piece of metal felt extremely heavy in the blond's small hands, almost as if it was beckoning to be used. And the thought felt awfully tempting. After all, the boy reasoned, he was only human, too

Without even so much as giving his impulse a thought the child plunged forward at an alarming speed, not leaving the guard any time to react to the unexpected assault. Lunging at the man, who spun around an expression of sheer shock plastered all over his features, Doflamingo raised the knife above his head and brought it down with all the speed and force his small body could muster. The blade sank right into the man's chest. The impact of the hit sent the man hurling down towards the ground and the blond followed suit, his long and thin fingers still wrapped around the knife in a death grip. However, upon hitting the ground the shaft of the knife was wrenched out of the boy's hands and he slid of the man and onto the sand behind him. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed Doflamingo's fears; the guard was still breathing, and the boy, not even leaving himself time to regain his balance, hastily made it over to the fallen guard. Regaining his grip of the knife the blond pulled it out before rather clumsily climbing back on top of the man. Blood was pouring out from the wound in the man's chest and it soaked Doflamingo's clothes, but at the moment he didn't notice, his attention fully fixed at the guard.

It seemed as if the man beneath him was trying to say something but the only things that came out of his mouth were pained moans and a few gurgling choughs. The man was obviously mortally wounded, the muffled coughs being proof enough that the internal damage cause by the stab was significant enough to make blood gather in the mouth of the fallen guard. The blond did not intend to leave anything to chance though, and in a rapid movement he slashed the shiny piece of metal across the man's throat, silencing the guard forever.

Blood was pooling out from the deep gush and it slowly coloured the sand around the two a matted, but yet distinctly crimson, red colour. It took a moment for the blond child to actually process what had just gone down, and when he did he was momentarily struck by an intense feeling of panic and guilt. The man had been unarmed, of course the boy knew he had had no chance of knowing this before hand, but attacking a defenceless person left a bitter aftertaste. What further bothered the blond was the fact that upon closer study, the guard proved to be rather young. A young man who perhaps had been placed here against his will. A man with his whole life still before him, and he, Doflamingo, had killed him.

Slowly he pushed himself of the man and scrambled up to his feet. His hands were stained with blood, as was his clothes. Silently the blond shook his head, as if he by doing so could rid himself of the looming sense of guilt. Not so unexpectedly, it didn't work. Still, be things as they were, Doflamingo knew he could not just stand here wasting time. The odds of someone still following him were slim, but it would not be completely hallucinatory to think so, and thus the boy could not afford to waste even one second.

Doflamingo's mind sat of working franticly. What was he to do? He couldn't leave the man like this, but where could he possibly hide a body in the desert? The blond supposed he could dig a hole and bury the man, but the procedure seemed very time-consuming and the nervous child wanted to wash off the blood before it dried on his clothes and left visible evidence of the crime that he had committed. Turning his gaze towards the open sea Doflamingo overweighed the option of first washing himself clean from the blood and then burying the man. But, in light of the ever so slight possibility that someone might stumble upon the crime scene and witness the chaos, Doflamingo did not want to risk leaving the body unattended. Just when he thought he had driven himself into a dead end the blond was struck by an idea. It was a solution so obvious Doflamingo had not even considered it at first, but the answer was literally staring him right up in the face. The only thing he'd have to do was dispose of the body in the sea and the strong ocean currents would take care of the rest.

With rediscovered calm and determination the young boy grabbed the feet of the guard, taking one in each hand, and started pulling him towards the shore. Even though the sea was not far away the guard proved heavier than expected, and by the time Doflamingo reached the water he was not only soaked in blood but also in his own sweat.

As Doflamingo was constantly afraid of losing his own foothold while backing out into the dark waters he took his time dragging the man's body out towards the strong currents. Having submerged the lower half of the guard into the water the boy walked up to the head of the young man and, tightly gripping the cold shoulders of the guard, Doflamingo started pushing him as far away from the shore as the blond himself dared to go. As soon as Doflamingo started feeling even the slightest current tug at the man he immediately let go and hurried back towards the shore. The child did not want to challenge the powers of the sea, because if he drowned here nothing he had done so far would serve any purpose. Doflamingo just had to put his trust into that the violent ocean streams would transport the guard as far away as ever possible.

Now, having rid himself of the body, Doflamingo sat himself to the task of washing the blood of his clothes and body. The blood, still being fresh, actually dissolved into the water better than the blond had expected. But, even though the salty water might have done miracles in getting rid of the blood, dirt and sand that had stuck to the boy's lanky body during the day, the blond quickly came to realize that seawater was not ideal for the task of washing an injured body. The salty liquid seemed to seep into every wound on his body, giving cause to a stinging, burning and almost blistering sensation which spread throughout his whole body. Further, when attempting to wash the sand out of his hair, Doflamingo was unfortunate enough to get some of the water into his eyes, and swearing the blond promised himself that this would be the last time even considered washing in the sea. Aggravated and bitter Doflamingo started floundering back towards the shore, a never-ending mumble of profanities pouring out from his sullen mouth. Luckily the boy could at least find some comfort in the fact that he was finally clean.

On his way to the campsite Doflamingo made sure to spread new sand on top of the sand having been dyed red by the copious amounts of blood, and by the time he reached the fire he was anew covered in sand, as it now, when he was soaked, stuck to him better than before. A displeased frown worked itself onto Doflamingo's face, but the boy, despite his annoyance, figured it would be smarted to finish this one tedious job before heading down to the sea for a new dip. In the midst of it all he also rediscovered the murder weapon, which he had momentarily forgotten about, lying discarded in the sand by the fire. It also seemed to need a good wash, so the blond scooped it up from the ground before once again steering his feet towards the cold and big sea.

This time the child's visit in the water didn't last for long, as he only once, with his eyes tightly closed, submerged under water and then quickly surfaced again. Stopping only once in order to crouch down and scrub the knife clean of any blood that had not washed away during his dive, Doflamingo resolutely walked back towards the fire. This time around he was more careful in his strides though, not wanting to attract the attention of too many a grain of sand.

Well back at the fire the first thing Doflamingo did was to feed a few logs to the flames, after which he moved to stand right next to the fire. His eyes, still stinging from the salty water, keenly observed new mesmerising glows of reds and yellows being born as the flames greedily devoured the dry logs. The boy was also hoping that the close proximity to fire would warm him up because nights in the desert were known for their extreme frigidness. As expected the fire did indeed provide some heat, but the cold wetness of the blond's clothes had the exact opposite effect, and in the end the kid was left feeling rather cold despite standing right next to the burning flames.

As death by freezing did not seem too appealing to the boy he started rummaging around the campsite in hopes of finding something to wrap around himself, and after a short search, he did. In the armchair lay a gray, woollen blanket, which Doflamingo supposed had acted as the guard's substitute for a cover. It looked rather old and worn, and it smelled rather foul, but to the frozen child it simultaneously seemed very warm and inviting. The hunt had also led the blond to discover multiple other more or less useful objects scattered about around the campsite. Among these were an axe, some rope, provisions, plenty of bottles, a few packs of cigarettes, some magazines and an oil lamp as well as oil to go with it. The gangly youngster found some comfort in the fact that the poorly equipped camp still was so well stocked, as this most likely meant a new guard would only come to relieve the other of his duties when the provisions had been exhausted. Later Doflamingo also discovered a Den Den Mushi, thus further confirming his suspicions. This last discovery in particular gave the child the final bit of encouragement needed to allow his tired nerves the luxury of a short moment of relaxation.

Having guaranteed himself another source of warmth in form of the greyish blanket the young boy wriggled out of his wet clothes and placed them on the ground close to the fire. He was aware of that sand would get stuck on the soaked clothes now, but as they dried so would the sand, and Doflamingo figured that once the clothes were fully dry the sand would be relatively easy to shake out of them. Anyhow he was glad to get rid of the wet, clingy rags, and as he wrapped himself in the warmth of the woollen fabric a small but content smile tugged at the corners of his pale, thin lips. Then, grabbing a few bottles and some of the provisions, the boy proceeded to sit down by the fire.

Upon discovering water in one of the bottles Doflamingo downed it all in one go. It tasted heavenly, especially compared to the water he had drunk earlier, but also compared to the water he had usually been served. Because water had at all times been the blond's top priority he had not even thought about food, and it wasn't before he had swallowed his first mouthful of the first substantial food he had had in days that Doflamingo realized how hungry he really was. To some people the bland provisions might have seemed unappetizing, but to the hungry child they were like the biggest feast he had ever experienced. Actually the blond considered himself rather lucky, because what the food lacked in flavour it made up in nutrition, and that would surely provide a well needed energy boost to Doflamingo's still growing body. A body that had been ravaged by hunger for far longer than any child's should be. The blond could just have kept on eating and eating, his stomach constantly crying for more food, but in the end he had forced himself to stop. Too much food now would only do him harm in the end. Doflamingo needed some time to readjust and he also needed to save some food, because who knew when he'd get some next time.

After a while Doflamingo started feeling thirsty again and as there seemed to be plenty of bottles left he scurried over to get one of them. On the way he also came across the cigarette packs again, and out of curiosity the boy took one of them, an already opened package, with him back to the fire. He had seen people smoke many times and had always wondered what the charm with it really was. Also, Doflamingo was certainly not the kind of child to skip a chance to experience something new if he had been provided with the opportunity.

Sitting back down by the warm fire the blond put the cigarettes and the bottle down beside him and readjusted the gray blanket around his shoulders. Staring into the depths of the glowing flames the boy absentmindedly reached out for the bottle, corked it open and slowly lifted it up towards his lips. But, as the bottle reached about face height, he abruptly stopped all movement. Doflamingo puckered his nose at the strongly smelling liquid, which certainly wasn't water, and slowly turned the glass flask in his hands so that he would be able to read the label. Whisky, it said in faded letters. Alcohol huh, thought the boy. After a brief moment of thinking over the matter Doflamingo, against his better judgement, took a swing out of the bottle, figuring it couldn't hurt him more than all the other things that had occurred during the course of the day.

The brownish liquid was stronger than Doflamingo had anticipated and it gave birth to a tingling, burning feeling as it sipped down his throat and down into his stomach. It almost felt as if his insides were on fire, his stomach was cringing in protest, and the child could barely hold back the cascade of coughs threatening to rise in his throat. The young blond knew this was an attempt of his body to reject the drink and rid itself of its harmful effects, but despite all the warning signals Doflamingo still stubbornly swallowed a few more mouthfuls of the beverage before putting the bottle away.

The whiskey had actually tasted rather foul and the blond almost regretted his decision to drink more of it, but when warmth within minutes started to spread through his body, and as his mind grew fuzzier, the decision did not longer seem so stupid. As a matter of fact the young boy started to feel quite relaxed and content, better than he had felt in days. However, Doflamingo was sure this would cost him in the morning. Something like this could not be without its drawbacks, and from what he had heard of alcohol it could cause hideous after effects. But, as time would surely tell him, Doflamingo saw no point in further pondering upon the possible drawbacks of whiskey. Ha had drunk it, so now he would just have to deal with it. Everything in life had consequences.

Letting out a deep breath the young blonde plopped down on his elbows, careful so not to let his still dripping hair hit the sandy surface. He tilted his head upwards, so that he was facing the dark night sky. The scenery was breathtaking. Doflamingo had not seen the night sky for such a long time that he had almost forgotten what it looked like, and the amount of stars sprinkled across the dark celestial sphere had him gawking with surprise. Suddenly the prospect of freedom seemed so close, so reachable, and yet the blond couldn't help but to think of the possibility as somewhat surrealistic. Doflamingo had never actually thought that his escape attempt would turn out to be a success, but now he finally dared to hope. Stretching out his long legs in the sand the blond could feel the small, rough grains get stuck between his toes, but for once he wasn't annoyed with the fact but found the sensation rather pleasant. Now the only hurdle standing between him and freedom was the endless masses of water that surrounded Doflamingo on all sides, and, even if it was just water, the sheer size of the sea itself made escape from the island seem like an almost insurmountable problem.

While trying to think of a good escape plan Doflamingo playfully grabbed fistfuls of sand, and lifting up his hand he would silently observe as millions of grains slowly sipped through his fingers and fell back to the ground. The blond had never thought of it before, being surrounded by vast expanses of sand, but every grain seemed to have its own distinct colour scheme and it was only together that they created the distinct colour of sand. Having yet again let all the sand escape his fingers Doflamingo lowered his hand to repeat the process, but instead of sand his fingers brushed against something papery. Surprised, the kid looked down at the object of distraction and it turned out to be the pack of cigarettes.

Moving from a reclined posture into sitting cross-legged the blonde pulled out one of the cigarettes from the package. Doflamingo wavered for a moment, running his eyes over the thin, white stick, weighing it in his hand. Then, having made up his mind, he thrust one of the ends towards the fire, waiting for it to light up. When the tip of the cigarette was burning with a distinct glow he brought the thinly stick up to his lips and inhaled deeply. He let the smoke momentarily fill his mouth, carefully exploring the new, odd taste, before letting the gray mass out again. The smoke, exiting his mouth, mingled with the vast clouds of smoke emerging from the campfire, and creating one big, gray mass it slowly floated up towards the heavens like a pillar of greyed, but yet almost transparent, stone. Or, like an upstream of slowly flowing water. Then it suddenly downed on Doflamingo, his escape plan. He'd build a raft and ride it out of the island!

Thinking about it in more detail Doflamingo realized he might actually have all he needed to follow out his plan without even leaving the camp. Not that he had ever built a raft, but it couldn't be completely impossible, after all he had an axe and even some rope, and the camp was surrounded by a few palm trees. That was all you needed to build a raft, right? And he had food and water to survive on for at least a while ahead, and even a lamp. Then again, surviving on a rough ocean with a rickety, unsteady raft as your boat did not sound too promising, but what other option did he have? Slightly crestfallen the blond shook his head, a few last droplets of water being flung to the side by the motion. He'd have to think about the matter further in the morning, because he could feel his head growing cloudier with sleepiness with every passing minute. But for now a raft really seemed like the best option, he'd just have to hope that lady luck would stand by his side for a little longer. All things considered he'd still rather die free on the ocean than come to meet his end in this sickly country.

Tying the blanket like a mantel around his shoulders Doflamingo rose and walked over to the pile of firewood. He started grabbing logs of various sizes and slowly he piled them up in his lap until he felt he could carry no more. Carefully, so he wouldn't drop the wood or stumble under its weight, Doflamingo made it back to the fire and threw the firewood to the flames, hoping that this would keep the fire alive during the rest of the night. Then, with tired feet, Doflamingo dragged himself over to the armchair, taking great caution when climbing into it so that he wouldn't drag mountains of sand up with him. Curling up in one corner of the armchair he worked his dexterous fingers to loosen the knot he had tied around his neck, and when finished he spread the blanket over himself. He had to sit bowlegged in order to fit fully in the chair, and the blanket was not big enough to cover him completely, but it was still warm and comfortable and Doflamingo started wondering why he ever had felt sorry for the guard. This campsite was great.

At the thought of the guard the blond could feel his body tensing up and his head, against his will, started to fill with unnerving thoughts considering the body's whereabouts. What if the ocean currents would bring the body to a port town? What if it already had been discovered? How long would it take them to realize who the guard was and where he had come from? All of a sudden the boy felt extremely insecure and his eyes were nervously flickering from side to side detecting movement in the dark even though there was none. Rubbing his tired eyes with his fingers a shaken Doflamingo tried to calm himself down as best as he could. Even though someone might discover the body, the campsite was far away from the closest port town and it would at last take half a day for anyone to get there. This thought, however comforting it might be, could not stop the tremors that rhythmically tore through the spindly, beat up body. The blond momentarily considered getting back up and starting to build the raft immediately, but to be honest he felt as if even a few hours of sleep would benefit him and a his craftsmanship to such a high degree that he decided to go against this impulse.

Closing his eyes the boy thought back at the passing day; his young mind mulling over every single detail, and it brought his spirits down. Doflamingo had never thought the world was a particularly amazing place, he had never seen such a reality, but somewhere deep down in his childish heart he had hoped that something similar to kindness had existed. But now he felt proven utterly wrong. The people in the town, the woman selling water, the fat man, the vendor, the butcher and even the guard he had almost taken pity on, they were all egoistical creatures, working only for their own good and their own good alone. None of the citizens he had seen during the day had taken pity on him, the old woman had sold all of her fresh water to a rich man even though she could see Doflamingo was almost dying of thirst, the poor vendor had taken all of Doflamingo's money and only given him contaminated, disgusting water in return… and then there was the guard. Doflamingo had felt guilty for killing him at first, but thinking of it now the deed did not seem so bad. If he hadn't acted as he had the guard would surely have killed him, and anyhow, the guards where just as much to blame for the miserable state this country was in as the government. To join the guards was to serve the government and provide to the injustices and the war destroying this country; at least that was what the old prisoners had always muttered about behind the backs of the warders.

Despite his disappointment Doflamingo still felt as if he had learned a valuable life lesson during the course of the day. He knew now that in order to be successful one should not care about others, and under all circumstances should one place oneself above everyone else, because that seemed to be all that mattered. It was the winners, the survivors and those with power, who got to decide what was fair, and in order to become one of them all it seemed to take was egoism. And, as the answer had been staring him in the eyes all this time, Doflamingo couldn't understand how it had never occurred to him before. He'd just have to turn into one of those people he despised and learn to like it. The boy was sure this would be fully accomplishable if he only tried, and to his own surprise, when giving it some thought, the blond realized he was already well on his way. He had killed a man for his own gain and it surely made him as bad as the people he had condemned just a few minutes ago.

Doflamingo didn't know whether he should be pleased with himself, or angry at himself. He clenched his fists and bit his lips in frustration as the matter proved a lot harder to chew and swallow than it had seems at first glance. Part of him, the child in him, still refused to accept the crude, unrefined and cruel reality for what it was. The child in Doflamingo still wanted to believe in something better, but after what he had witnessed it was hard. The colours of the idyllic picture Doflamingo had painted in his mind slowly started to crumble and what was left was only the gray, hard, concrete wall which had been hiding there all along, waiting to be discovered. A dream ruined.

A sudden wetnessrunning down the blond haired boy's cheek abruptly broke his down spiralling train of thoughts. It took a while before Doflamingo realized it was tears, his tears, and the realization sparked up certain bitterness within the blond. Crying was a weakness! Strong people did not cry; they did not even show emotions, and Doflamingo was thoroughly frustrated at the fact that he was unable to stop the salty drops streaming down his face. Maybe it was the exhaustion making him weep, maybe it was the guilt, or maybe it was the realization of his own naivety, but no matter the reason Doflamingo swore this would be the last time it happened. He'd have to grow stronger, physically yes, but first and foremost he needed to grow his mentality, because crying could sure not be part of the new, bettered Doflamingo.

Now the only issue was how to stop the tears, which basically forced themselves out of his eyes, from falling. The kid tried everything. He though happy thoughts, angry thoughts and he even tried thinking about nothing at all, but every single method failed him and the transparent liquid stubbornly continued welling out of his pooling eyes at a steady pace, frustrating the blond to no end. And, unknown to the blond, this frustration gave birth to new tears.

When all else failed him Doflamingo resorted to violence, hoping that pain would distract him enough to rule out the urge to cry. He bit and clawed at himself, not caring if he drew blood in the process, and soon he could feel his consciousness gradually slipping further and further away. But, as he tossed his left arm out to his side, in order to gather momentum for a new punch, it brushed the surface of something cool and plastic. The touch of the unfamiliar material made Doflamingo halt in his movements and look over to his side.

Although his vision was considerably blurrier than it was on a normal basis Doflamingo managed to make out a black and small object, and tentatively he closed his hand around it and pulled it closer to his face. And, as he examined the plastic, oddly shaped object he realised it was a pair of sunglasses. At first the blond was slightly dumbfound by the fact, not understanding why a pair of sunglasses would have been placed on the armchair, but when giving it some thought it made sense. The border guard would not have wanted to keep his eyes unprotected during the long, sunny hours of the day and Doflamingo supposed a pair of tinted glasses were superb when it came to eye protection. On a whim the blond slipped the glasses on, securing the frames behind his ears. The boy figured that his eyes might need some protection as well; not from the sun though, but from the world.

The shades were somewhat too big to fit Doflamingo perfectly. The coloured, oval shaped lenses covered double the size needed and the sheer weight of the glassed had them sliding down the bridge of the blond's tanned nose, almost to the point where they fell off. Ultimately, however, they stayed in place, and the moment Doflamingo had slipped on the glasses he had felt as if he had stepped into a separate room. A separate world. The darkness the sunglasses provided felt strangely soothing to his head, which was pounding with a pain he had failed to notice earlier. Also, the darkness felt strangely safe…a protective environment…an escape from the real world. The sunglasses gave Doflamingo a place to hide.

Yet, even though the glasses had momentarily lulled the blonde into a certain illusion of safety, they had not helped the tears, not in more than concealing them from the surrounding world.

It was not as much the fact that he was crying that upset the lanky boy any longer. The source of Doflamingo's frustration rather had its roots in the idea of having no clue as to the reason why he was reacting like this, and his inability to stop the pitiful behaviour. In all the years of his imprisonment he could not recall a single tear having rolled down his dirty cheeks, no matter what he had been put through. So why now? Why when he was so close to freedom? No matter how the kid twisted and turned the matter in his head it didn't make any sense whatsoever. He had been through worse and come out less affected by it. The injustice of justice, the inhumanity of humans and the cruelty of the world, it was all he ever had known so why was he so upset by it? In anguish over the situation Doflamingo grabbed his head, squeezing it tightly between his bony hands, trying to make sense of something, anything! But his head was empty, full of nonsense, but yet completely empty of any reason. The mishmash of ideas, thoughts, speculations and ideals flying through Doflamingo's brain slowly worked the child's mind into frenzy; a state of complete chaos.

And, finally, something hidden deep underneath the messy thatch of blond hair snapped, and broke. Doflamingo had come to a point where he had breached a certain border, a border he did not know if he could ever step over again.

It was all too much for the mind of a young child, and just as the blond was about to break out into a new fit of onslaught his body did something entirely unexpected and completely different.

Doflamingo broke out into a manic laughter.

The child was not fully aware of the reason to why. Maybe it was a method of self-defence his body had applied in order to protect itself, or maybe he finally had lost his mind, but what he soon realized was that the tears were no longer running down his cheeks. His eyes didn't even feel watery any longer. And, that was all that really mattered.

And, suddenly, it all seemed to click into place.

If laughter kept the tears and bitterness at bay then in laughter he'd trust. Smiles, that'd be his future. Power and smiles that was the recipe for a perfect idyll, and if, contrary to all exceptions, the blond's psyche would fail him for even the shortest of moments, Doflamingo had found the ultimate protection; shades. Those were never to leave his side again. One day he would become unbeatable, he would become the best of them all, even if it would cost him his sanity!

The cascade of eerie laughter continued sounding in the otherwise peaceful night, filling the darkness with an unsettling cackling echo. Gradually though, the manic laughter turned into a giggle, and after yet another while it was reduced to only an occasional hiccup before finally quieting down completely. The utter silence of the night was now only interrupted by the occasional crackling or popping sound from the fire that burned brightly by the patched up armchair.

An armchair accommodating an exhausted child.

A child dressed in sunglasses despite it being a pitch black night.

* * *

So, this is where I end my story of Doflamingo's past. Now all we can do is wait for Oda to reveal the real past of Doflamingo, and I for one am extremely excited.

I hope you all enjoyed the story, and thank you for sticking with it until the end! Feel free to leave a comment if you please.

Btw, my brother was kind enough to proofread this story for me and one day he just barged into my room…

Brother: Hey, I'm now going to quote you, so listen up!  
Me: ….ok…?  
Brother: *clears his throat* "He'd build a rat and ride it out from the island!"  
Me: …what? ...OH! *starts laughing uncontrollably*

This was followed by a brief conversation about leaving the mistake uncorrected, because it _almost_ makes sense like that, in the end however, I did change the rat to a raft… Anyhow, it was a funny incident and I'm lucky to have a brother willing enough to spend time reading my writing because I'm sure that one mistake would certainly have remained unnoticed by me!


End file.
